as soon as they’d come through the flap. “Thank you.” She reached for a piece of fruit first, a thick slice of melon, wanting to ease her stomach into eating, trying to avoid being sick.
The melon juice tasted like honey, its aromatic flavor flooding her taste buds. Tears sprung to her eyes at the relief of having food again. Until this moment, no matter how much she had refused to let herself think of it, she hadn’t been sure she would survive. And still, it was a long way to the city yet. She reached for a boiled egg. Protein. She needed that to regain her strength.
When she finished eating, Fatima rummaged through one of the woven bags and brought over a black scarf and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Dara ran her fingers through her hair, surprised to find it washed and combed. “When did I come here?”
Fatima looked at her with surprise on her face. “Yesterday. Our brother found you in the desert.”
Our brother. They were Saeed’s sisters. She wondered where the little boy’s mother was. She fumbled with the scarf. A mirror would have helped.
Lamis came over, took the sheer material from her and secured it with ease. “It is our custom to cover our hair.”
“But not your face?” Dara thought of the images she’d seen on TV.
“Not our tribe. It is different in every region. When we’re in the desert we follow the tribal customs, when we’re in the city, we follow the customs of the city. There we cover everything. Wahhabism.” She made a face as she said the word, then leaned back to survey her handiwork. “Very pretty.” She smiled.
“Thank you.”
The little boy ran in, stared at Dara for a moment, said something in Arabic, then ran out.
Fatima rose. “Our brother is ready to see you.” She stepped to the divider, parted it and stepped through first, holding it for Dara.
She followed, ready to make her case, to bargain or manipulate, whatever would be needed. Then she saw Saeed. He sat cross-legged in front of the glowing embers of a fire.
His headdress rested in a relaxed loop around his neck now, his face uncovered. Kaboom. His cobalt-blue eyes shone from his tanned face, above the straight nose and masculine lips. Strength and power radiated from him like heat and light from the fire. He had a paralyzing effect on her. She could hear blood rush in her ears, loudly like a waterfall. She was not going to faint. She pressed her short nails into her palm. God, this was ridiculous. Her reaction to the man was absurd.
Fatima and Lamis sat, and she sank onto the carpet next to them, the air leaving her lungs with a whoosh as a strange sensation sucked in like quicksand every coherent thought in her mind. The rest of the tent dimmed then began to spin slowly. The food, she thought. She had eaten too much too fast. She held fast to his piercing gaze, clear and steady.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” His deep voice filled the tent as well as her chest cavity.
She nodded, unable to form words. If only he knew.
“Exposure can tax the body,” he said.
Of course. That was why she was feeling so discombobulated. She needed to drink more, eat enough to regain her strength.
“Have you remembered anything?” His gaze was mesmerizing.
“No,” she croaked out her first word at last, and hoped to hell it sounded convincing.
He nodded. “You will stay here until you do.”
“No.” The protest flew from her lips. “Thank you for your hospitality.” She tried to temper it, to give him a good, logical reason. “I need to contact the embassy as soon as possible. There might be people worried about me.”
He gave her a long, hard look.
She pushed on. “How far are we from Tihrin, the town you mentioned?”
“About three hundred kilometers. What is your name?”
“I don’t remember.” He’d asked her that before. Was he trying to trip her up?
“I can help you hide from those who seek to harm you.”
His words sounded sincere. Too bad she had no idea what he was getting at. Did he know about the plane crashing? Was whoever shot it down hunting her? All the more reason to get to Tihrin fast. “Thank you,” she said. I think.
“There are those who seek to harm me. A friend who might lead me to my enemies would prove a good friend indeed and would be well rewarded,” he went on.
Huh? The oasis. Did he think she knew the men who had attacked him? “I would help you if I could.”
This much was true. She did not wish to see him dead.
Voices rose outside the tent, men yelling.
“When your memory returns, I want to be told at once.” He sat without moving, his gaze not leaving her for a second. Indeed, it had not left her since she had come in.
A woman called out and Dara glanced in the direction of the voice, realizing for the first time that the entrance flap of the tent was open to the outside. Saeed responded in Arabic and the woman stepped in, carrying a pail.
“This is Shadia. She took care of you when you arrived,” Saeed said. “She wishes to take care of your eye infection.”
Dara rubbed her eye. Eye infection. Great. Damn this stupid sand that got in everywhere and irritated everything.
The woman, her clothes worn but clean, settled down next to her, dipped a scrap of wool into the dark yellow liquid in the pail.
And then Dara got a whiff of it. “What’s that?”
The intensity on Saeed’s face relaxed into watchfulness, with some humor glinting around his eyes. “Camel urine. It’s a very strong disinfectant.”
Okay then. She came to her feet startling the woman. “No, thank you.”
“She already treated you with it several times when you were unconscious.”
Dara made a note not to pass out ever again as long as she lived. People did weird stuff to you, abusing your weakness.
“Thank you.” She bowed to the woman. “I’m much better now.”
Shadia looked confused, then shook her head with disapproval when Saeed translated, but picked up her bucket and left the tent.
Dara sat back down. Close call with camel urine averted. What else had they done to her while she was out? She had a feeling she didn’t want to know.
“Shadia is a very competent servant,” Saeed said. “You can trust yourself to her. If the eye gets worse, you will have to do something to treat it.”
“I’ll make sure to see a doctor in Tihrin.” She stared at the hint of a grin that hovered over his masculine lips. The man had a mouth to die for.
He looked toward the tent’s opening and she followed his gaze, watching a man approach. His brother, she knew without being told. Saeed looked like some ancient Bedouin warlord, terror of the caravans. The younger man who entered the tent looked smoother, boyishly handsome instead of ruggedly so, like an actor Hollywood would choose to play Saeed’s role in the movie made about him.
He greeted Saeed without taking his eyes off her. That was different, too—his irises were golden brown instead of blue. They shone with intensity as he took her in.
Saeed said something to him. He didn’t respond.
“My brother, Nasir,” he said then.
Nasir nodded to her, said something to Saeed that made him stand.
“I must leave. Welcome to our tent. If you need anything, you need only to ask one of my sisters.” He stepped through the flap and after a few moments called back for Nasir.